


Keep your head head in the box

by transconstellation



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn, Falsettos - Lapine/Finn (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Falsettos baseball AU, It’s all in the making, M/M, star pitcher whizzer, they’ll fall in love one day, trans whizzer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:58:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transconstellation/pseuds/transconstellation
Summary: When Whizzer, the star pitcher of the Yankees, met his young fan and the young fan’s father, there was something that caught his eye.Whizzer is trans in my writing.





	1. Chapter 1

Whizzer stared the batter down, slowly raising his arms, the baseball squeezed between the fingers of his right hand. He stood as still as a statue for a moment, just taking in the moment, making the last calculations, going through the motions in his head one last time. His eyes were fixed on the batter, who in turn was staring at his fist around the baseball. Whizzer took in a deep breath, feeling the audience breathing with him, moving only when he did too. Last pitch. It was now or never. Every single person watching was on the edge of their seat, eyes wide, fixed on the scene happening before them.

Whizzer’s fingers tightened for a nanosecond and a grin flashed across his face for just a moment. There was a drop of sweat dripping down his forehead. Then he moved fast, throwing his arm out, using his whole upper body to get the ball to do exactly what he wanted. The ball left his fingertips and seemed to fly straight towards the batter, only to curl _up_ just when it was supposed to be just where the batter wanted it. The batter flung his bat, but it was too late; the ball was already past him. The audience was on its feet, yelling Whizzer’s name as the announcer called the strike. Whizzer stood tall, grinning wildly as the batter grabbed his cap and threw it on the ground, defeated.

It was the last pitch of the game. It was the last pitch and it sealed the game. Yankees won the game against the Mets 4-3 thanks to Whizzer’s extraordinary pitches. He may have not been the best batter, but he could pitch like no other.

“Four-three, Yankees ahead! Thanks to their bright young star, Whizzer Brown! Damn, I still can’t figure out how exactly he does that pitch, but one thing is sure - there are no homeruns as long as he’s pitching!” The announcer roared as the rest of the Yankees came running, surrounding Whizzer with cheering and laughter. The audience was still on fire, screaming, giving Whizzer standing ovation. He pushed through his teammates to wave at the fans and blew a few kisses at the Mets batters who he’d striked out during the game.

Maybe it wasn’t perfectly legal to mess with the losing team, but Whizzer just couldn’t resist it. He’d gotten so many warnings from his coach about pissing off the other players by being such a little shit, but he rarely listened. He helped Yankees to the top, it wasn’t like he’d get benched or anything. And it was so much _fun_ , seeing the Mets boys squirm with no idea what to make of Whizzer. And, to be fair, Whizzer had had to fight for his place in the team. He’d gotten so much shit it was due he got his chance at at least some payback.

The crowd went even wilder when they saw Whizzer teasing the opposing team and the young pitcher couldn’t help but laugh. His eyes shone bright as he threw both of his arms up to cheer for the last time, white teeth showing with how wide his smile was. The game was over, his teammates were laughing behind him as they made their way towards the dressing room and showers.

“Brown will be out to meet the VIP people soon, so you just sit tight,” Whizzer caught his coach telling some people a bit to his left and he glanced over to see a group of fans. Some were wearing versions of his baseball shirt and it made him chuckle. A father with a kid, about 10 years old, stood at the front of the line and he met the kid’s eyes. The kid immediately grabbed his father’s arm and pulled it down, most likely turning to tell him about how Whizzer had noticed him. Whiz made a mental note to be sure to give the kid one of his actual baseballs if he hadn’t caught one during the game.

Whizzer had to take a shower before he met any of his supporters. Most of his teammates had already cleaned up, so he stalled a bit, knowing soon enough he’d get to shower on his own. Sure, his teammates treated him as equal, but it was still weird to undress and shower with the guys. Whizzer usually avoided it like the plague, even after big games such as this one. The smile faded from his face as he walked into the shadows, disappearing into the Yankees dressing room.

Whizzer was met by a loud cheer as soon as he walked in, a cheer that spread like wildfire within the guys already either half naked or wearing towels. He laughed along as the guys patted his shoulders as he made his way through them. “I still don’t get it,” one of the guys called out, “what the hell do you do to the ball?” Whizzer laughed and placed a hand over his heart, “Oh but you see, it’s like me: first it seems straight, but once you get close enough, you see how queer it really is!” He took a bow and the whole room filled with wild laughter. But it was true - Whizzer’s pitching was like that.

First the ball headed straight towards the batter, deceiving him into thinking it was a safe, easy ball, only to curve up of all ways. So many batters had swung their bats thinking they’d hit a homerun only to realize the ball had gone over their bat. And no one could replicate it. Whizzer was the only one able to pitch that way and even if, at first, no one had allowed him to even play in the league - let alone in the Yankees - now he was an irreplaceable part of the team that no one dared to misgender.

Their coach had gotten so much shit after announcing Whizzer was their main pitcher for the season. Whizzer had gotten so much shit for playing as a Yankee and so many of his guys had gotten shit for playing with him. But that’s what one gets, for being a little different. Some of the fans had walked out the first time Whizzer was pitching. They’d called him some pretty nasty names, said that it was the end of Yankees, having a girl pitch at the big games. But Whizzer had been the reason for their success and soon enough he more than earned his spot in that team.

It hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. And now he had to hurry. He still had those fans waiting outside for him.

Whizzer grabbed his towel and hurried to the showers were the last of the guys were just finishing up. He waited for them to disappear, which they soon did once they saw Whizzer, and started to undress. It wasn’t that they didn’t wan to shower with him - it was a tiny way to show respect. They wanted Whizzer to feel at home, or at least most of the guys did, so they let him do this stuff without anyone around. It was alienating enough to be around the guys with clothes on. It would’ve been too humiliating to shower with them completely exposed. In the beginning, the guys had been weirded out for sure, but now Whizzer was their brother. And without his team he wouldn’t have been able to get through each game, knowing some of the opposing team members and people in the audience didn’t want him there in the first place.

Whizzer showered as quickly as he could and made sure not to wet his hair too bad. It looked good as hell when it was all ruffled from the game. He dried himself off and got dressed just as fast, pulling a clean Yankees shirt with his number on the back from his locker. He put on a pair of fresh pants as well, but instead of his cleats, he just pulled on a pair of sneakers. Then he glanced at the mirror, messed his hair up some more, and got on his trademark half a smirk. Whizzer Brown. That was him. The star pitcher of the Yankees.

On his way out, Whizzer joked some more with is teammates, but his stomach was filled with butterflies as he paid no mind whatsoever to any of what his friends were saying. He grabbed his sunglasses that he’d left on the windowsill by the door as well as a spare baseball, put them in his pocket, and opened the door. He walked over the field and soon enough, he was met by yet another wave of cheers.

“I can take it from here, coach,” Whizzer stated as he reached the VIP entrance where his coach was still making conversation. “Oh there he is,” his coach replied immediately, placing a hand in his shoulder with the proudest smile, “Whizzer Brown everyone. Our number one pitcher. Dare I say, the number one pitcher in the whole league!” Whizzer laughed at the statement, brushing it off with a wave, “Let’s not go that far yet, coach Martin.”

After a few more remarks the coach left Whizzer with his ‘adoring fans’ as he phrased it. On his way out, he told Whizzer to get his ass back into the locker room soon, because they still had to go over the game as a team. Whizzer promised to be there soon before devoting all of his attention to the people who were there for him.

He signed a few baseball shirts with his number on them before he was met with a pair of adoring eyes staring up at him. The kid he’d noticed earlier. With a dad who didn’t know anything about how to dress. But that’s straight guys for you. “Hey, kiddo, enjoy the game?” Whizzer asked as he smiled at the kid staring up at him with the widest eyes. “Oh yeah! Definitely!” Glancing at the father, Whizzer raised a brow and reached for his pocket. “I’ve got a little surprise for you. What’s your name?” The question was met with excited stuttering and soon he learned that the kid was Jason. “Okay, Jason. If I give you this ball,” Whizzer pulled the baseball from his pocket and Jason could barely contain his excitement, “do you promise to always hold onto it?”

Whizzer could sense Jason’s father trying to keep from laughing, so he straightened his posture again and gave the man a rather challenging look. “And who are you, old man assisting my number one fan?” Whizzer flashed that smirk of his and the man chuckled audibly. “I’m Marvin. Though I gotta say, I don’t quite understand how the game works,” he admitted and Whizzer quirked a brow again, “but Jason thinks it’s the best thing ever, so here I am.” Whizzer could understand that. Smiling, he turned back to the kid, liking the duo more and more each second. There was something special about them. “Mind if I sign autographs for the rest of the group and then get back to you? Just hang out here for a moment more, we could talk a little about baseball.” Jason’s eyes lit up even more - if that was eve possible at this point - and his head jerked back as he turned to look at his father. Marvin gave him a nod and an ‘annoyed’ sigh and Whizzer grinned at the two of them before waving at the next few fans to come forward.

It didn’t take too long till the rest of the line had gotten their autographs and trademark smirks front the great Brown and soon Whizzer gEsther’s for Marvin and Jason to follow him. He wanted to sit down after standing for the whole game, but he also wanted to talk to Jason. The kid seemed excited about the game and if Whizzer could feed that fire and get the boy to play as long as he could, he sure as hell would do that.

“Okay, let’s take a seat here, out of the sun,” Whizzer motioned towards the seats and sat down, gesturing to Jason to take the seat next to him. It seemed like the kid had something to say, but he couldn’t quite get it out, so Whizzer spoke first. “How’d you like the game, hm? What was your favorite part?” Smiling, Whizzer glanced up at Marvin who’d sat on Jason’s other side. The man had a curious look on his face, as if he couldn’t quite make out what Whizzer had in mind. Marvin was cute in an odd way. “When you were pitching, by far!! The last pitch especially! How do you do that? How do you get the ball to curl UP? There’s no logical reason for it to do that, I’ve never seen anyone do it before, how is it possible?” Now that Jason had gotten his mouth open, it seemed like he had no off-button, and Whizzer laughed fondly.

“That was my favorite part too. You see, it’s all in the way you use your wrist,” he started, “and how fast you throw. When the ball is leaving your fingers, you actually twist your wrist to the right and roll your fingers under the ball.” Whizzer glanced at Jason, thinking he’d done an amazing job explaining his pitch. Jason seemed lost, causing Whizzer to furrow his brows. “Can I see that ball again?” He asked and Jason offered the ball back. “Okay, now watch closely,” Whizzer told the kid and Jason leaned forward as Whizzer slowly replicated what he did in the field a hundred times faster. When Jason got what Whizzer did, a quite ‘ohhh’ left his lips and it makes the pitcher laugh again. “But now, Jason and Jason’s old man guardian, you must promise _never_ to speak of this again. No one but the famous Whizzer Brown knows how to do the Brown Pitch!”

Marvin and Jason both burst into laughter, and Whizzer stood up from where he was sitting. “I think coach Martin will yell at me if I don’t get back soon. It was so nice meeting you two,” he said all polite and offered Marvin his hand. “In the next game, should I look for familiar faces in the crowd?” He spoke the first part to Jason, but by the end of it Whizzer’s eyes were stuck on Marvin as they shook hands. For a moment, he got completely lost in the guys’ eyes, but soon enough pulled himself together. Apparently Jason had said something in agreement and Whizzer turned to ruffle his hair. “If you bring this old crook with you, I’ll let you into the VIP seats for free. Let’s kill him with boredom by dragging him into my games with you, shall we?” Whizzer proposed to Jason all mischievous and the kid was immediately in. There was just something about them... And Whizzer wanted to see Marvin again. For whatever reason. Jesus, the guy was definitely straight, but he was kinda cute. Why not play with him a little?

Marvin’s reaction was to groan like he was being tortured and Whizzer and Jason laughed like they were some secret agents working on a conspiracy. “Okay, I’ll see you at the next game then. Thank you for coming.” Last few smiles at the two before Whizzer had to turn around. He started to jog back to the locker room, not glancing back no matter how much he wanted to. Jason definitely was a fan of Whizzer Brown and he wanted to see the kid again, but that Marvin. What was it about him? Whatever it was, Whizzer was enchanted already. For the first time, he didn’t wait for his next game only to pitch his famous pitches. No, this time he wished the next time he’d see that same duo sitting in the VIP section.


	2. Keep your eye on the ball

Whizzer slowly lowered himself into the almost steaming water of his bathtub, going over the previous night’s game in his head. He’d pitched well and coach Martin had given him praise on that, but told him to step up his game as a batter. And it was warranted - Whizzer really had to start batting better. Sighing, he leaned his head back against the wall, letting his arms float on the surface of the soothing water.

It wasn’t only his batting that occupied his mind, either. No, Whizzer still thought about that Marvin guy, the one with the kid whose hero Whizzer clearly was. He’d promised to get them in for free for the next game, which was tomorrow, if Jason dragged his father along. Looking back, Whizzer couldn’t quite understand why exactly he’d done that. Coach Martin would absolutely kill him if he found out. It wasn’t even sure if Marvin would show up in the first place. There was no need to think about it. There was no need to get nervous, stomach filling with butterflies. Oh, no, it wasn’t because of that man. Whizzer was nervous only because tomorrow’s game was just as big as the previous one had been. Yeah, it was just the pressure of needing to perform well again.

Whizzer closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything but baseball. He had to focus and go over the strategy that he knew like the palm of his hand one more time. He couldn’t do mediocre. He had to be outstanding each and every time he stood on that field, his pitching had to be perfectly him. More so than his teammates, he had to make sure not to leave any space for any kind of failure. So he had to focus. And focus was what he did.  
At least until he caught himself daydreaming about a certain set of blue eyes that were slightly shadowed by messy, dark curls. That smile that almost matched Whizzer’s own, the way he responded to Whizzer’s deliberate teasing… 

No. Focus. Whizzer opened his eyes, brows furrowed. No need to let some guy distract him. To be honest, the guy wasn’t even that cute. Whizzer was surely romanticizing him just because he was straight and Whizzer had no chance with him. Those guys were always so fun to play with, to tease, to flirt with. But he had to focus. He had to bring his A-game and there was no reason to let a guy like Marvin - who, to be frank, didn’t even belong in Whizzer’s word. The guy didn’t understand baseball fro crying out loud! - mess that concentration up. 

After a long while of fighting himself about whether to think about baseball or Marvin, and Jason the excitable, adorable kid, Whizzer finally stood up from the bath. All of the bubbles from the water had already dissolved and it was starting to cool down anyway, so it was time to get up and go to bed. He rolled his shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension and reached to grab a towel from the rack. Stepping out of the tub, he ran the towel through his wet hair before he rubbed his upper body dry and tied it around his waist.  
Whizzer turned around and bent down to let the water out of the tub, his thoughts wandering back to the kid who he’d given a baseball to. The excitement in his eyes, the way he lit up when Whizzer showed him how he got his pitch to curl up… It reminded Whizzer so much of the excitement he’d felt as a kid. The Jason leaned closer when Whizzer demonstrated how exactly he used his wrist when pitching made the pitcher smile. Jason was something. Whizzer didn’t exactly like children or want any himself, even if it one day became an option, but Jason… The kid moved something within Whizzer and he hoped Jason would come to the game the next day. To learn. To get more excited. To see the wonders of baseball, which he already knew based on his reactions.

Chuckling softly, Whizzer pushed himself back up. All of the water was gone, had been gone for a good while, and the pitcher hadn’t even noticed. Still deep in thought, he turned around again and walked to the sink, reaching for his toothbrush. Water dripping from his hair slid down his back and made him shiver as he watered the brush and opened the cabin to find his toothpaste. He glanced over his stack of testosterone, stopping on it for a short moment. That liquid in those tiny bottles was what kept him sane. It’s what made him able to play the sport he’d loved since he was a kid. It made Whizzer think about his old life, the one he’d left behind when he moved to New York City to live as the man he was.

Back in Utah, Whizzer life hadn’t been all too great. He’d had to fight his own fight all alone, his family wasn’t supportive in any way, and he’d been treated like an alien. As soon as he was out of high school, he packed his bags and got out. Whizzer made his way to New York City, knowing there he’d find a doctor willing to help him. He chose a name no one could trace back to him, made sure all of his old connections were burned down, and just played baseball. It was the one thing that had kept him sane in his old town and the one thing that got him up in the morning. Baseball.

And now he was a Yankee, the star pitcher, living and passing as the man he always was. It hadn’t been easy. And he still heard people yell awful things when he walked into the field to pitch, but once his talents shone through, it had gotten easier. Some of the insults he’d turned around and now embraced - with his friends, he was known as Pretty boy Brown now. Someone had said that as an attack, but Whizzer had loved the statement so much he immediately adopted it. He was a pretty boy. He dressed well out of field, his hair was always perfect, his smile was flirty and cute. He was pretty, like a boy was pretty. Sure the guy yelling it had meant it as him being pretty in the feminine sense of him being a girl, but that wasn’t true. Testosterone had shaped his features into something that rarely got misgendered. But he kept his good looks - he’d looked like a beautiful girl, now he was a beautiful man. No escaping from that. And Whizzer loved the way he looked now, so it didn’t even matter. Pretty boy Brown. Pretty boy Brown that had a pitch baked after himself, because he’d created it and no one could replicate it. That pretty boy was unstoppable.

Sighing, Whizzer moved on and brushed his teeth, his eyes darkening a little. He was unstoppable, but that was because he refused to stand down. It didn’t mean that he had no feelings, that it didn’t hurt when people walked out of the stadium when they saw him go up as pitcher. It didn’t take away the fact that he never knew if a guy he picked up from a bar would turn on him after he told him he was trans, try to use him, or hurt him in other ways. Whizzer’s life was dangerous even if he was allowed to play as the star pitcher, even if he started to make a name for himself. He was still in danger whenever he walked out from the safety of his own home.

Whizzer spat out the toothpaste and washed his brush before he grabbed a comb and ran it through his wet mess of a hair. Then he ruffled it up before nodding to himself in hopes of getting rid of all the bad thoughts and walked out of the bathroom. It was getting really late and Whizzer did have that big game the next day, so he heard straight to bed, just grabbing a pair of boxer briefs from the drawer on his way. He was alone, so there was no need for him to wear a shirt to bed. Eventually, he’d be able to afford all of the surgeries he’d need, but for now he settled for the hormones. Surgery could wait. He was still a new name, but eventually he’d get the funds.

Whizzer hung his towel over the closet door and pulled on the boxers before he crawled under the covers of his queen sized bed. He made sure to check his alarm so he wouldn’t oversleep and then pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them for a moment. Already sleepy, Whizzer’s thoughts started to wander freely. They went back to those two he’d met at the previous meet and greet. Did Jason understand what was so different about him as a baseball player? Would Jason see him differently if he knew the whole truth? Did Jason know in the first place, had Marvin explained it to him? Did Marvin know, either? Would Marvin accept Whizzer if he knew everything about him and his past? Did it even matter since, after all, they were just two people enjoying baseball in the audience? 

The questions that shouldn’t have even mattered were the last thing in his mind as Whizzer finally fell asleep. His dreams were littered with suppressed memories and Marvin and questions. Questions about Marvin and Jason and baseball and somehow he ended up in Marvin’s arms and just as he pulled Marvin down to meet him, something sharp and loud crashed the scene into a million pieces.

Whizzer shivered and groaned, pulling the blanket further over his head. But the drilling of the alarm clock wouldn’t give in and soon he has to sit up, reach over, and press the top of the machine to get it to stop torturing his foggy head. Rubbing his eyes, Whizzer tried to clear his mind up, the dreams still confusing him. He huffed out before looking up, stretching his arms up with a groan. 

Game day.

Today was another game, this time against the San Francisco Giants. Suddenly Whizzer’s stomach filled with butterflies as he remembered what else was special. Hopefully he had some special guests sitting in the audience, smiling and cheering him on. Maybe, just maybe, they’d actually used the opportunity to get in for free by using Whizzer’s name and might even stay to greet him after. Or at least Whizzer hoped they would.

Smiling softly to himself, the pitcher stood up from his bed and made his way towards the bathroom. He cleaned himself up and fixed his hair as much as it was smart - it was bound to get fucked during the game, but there was nothing wrong with wanting to look cute while walking into the field. It wasn’t a crime to blind everyone with how gorgeous one is. Whizzer grinned at his own thoughts as he turned away from the mirror without even glancing at his body and walked back into the bedroom. 

Heading straight for the closet, Whizzer counted the days in his head as to figure out what to bind with that day. He knew he probably should just wear a compressing sports bra, but something in his head told him it wasn’t enough. It was a bad dysphoria day, but he also knew it wasn’t wise to wear a binder to a game. If he’d been sure he wasn’t needed as a batter, he wouldn’t have thought about it twice, but since he had to run too instead of just binding, the issue was evident. And it was gonna be a hot day out. Sports, heat, and binding were never a good fit.

Thank god his game shirt was loose and Whizzer could easily switch up after the game. He silenced the voice in his head screaming at him for not putting on a good binder, a voice that told him he didn’t look like a man without binding all the time, and pulled on a compression bra. Whizzer was the star pitcher. He couldn’t risk his health by forcing his body to go through games with a binder on. No, he’d had a talk about it with their coach and Martin had told him it was more important he kept his lungs healthy. Sure, it was a person issue of constant worry while playing without a binder on, but it also enhanced Whizzer’s performance as the pitcher. Healthy body meant full capacity and that meant better pitches. He just had to avoid full boy mirrors till the game was done and maybe let some of the guys know it wasn’t that great of a day.

Sighing, Whizzer pulled on his Yankees shirt and game uniform pants, reaching for the duffel bag that contained his cleats and a towel. He pulled the dirty towel out and threw it in the laundry basket before grabbing a new one and folded it into the duffel with a binder inside. Then he walked into the kitchen to get some breakfast and fill his water bottle. Whizzer needed to fill his body with protein to get through the game, so he made himself porridge and got the coffee brewing. There was a clink at the door which let Whizzer know the mail came through and the pitcher left the kitchen to go see if there were any letters. He occasionally got fan mail sent to his private address, which was kind of weird, but it was nice to be appreciated by the fans of the sport he loved with his whole heart. This time Whizzer only got bills and nothing exciting, so he placed them on the counter before returning to his breakfast. 

It didn’t take long for Whizzer to be done and soon he was at the door, jamming his feet into his sneakers. He was lazy so he didn’t bother untying and tying them again, even if he did jog to the stadium. It wasn’t too long of a run and the sneakers were good quality, so it wasn’t that big of an issue if he didn’t tighten them every time. Whizzer grand his keys and threw them into the duffel bag with his cleats and the water bottle, making sure he had everything he needed in there. Wallet, ID, kinesio-tape in case his knee busted. It had happened before and nowadays Whizzer always carries the tale with him so he could continue pitching even if something went wrong.

Slamming the door behind him, Whizzer started to warm up as he turned away from his apartment and towards the road that led to the stadium. He bounced a few times on the balls of his feet and sprung into a light jog. Sure his teammates would warm up with him, but Whizzer liked running. It cleared his head and got him focused on the game ahead.

Thank god Whizzer forgot about the possible quests for a while. He kept his head in the game and when he got to the stadium, he only remembered that they had to beat the San Francisco Giants. He had to be the pitcher he was and strike the batters out.

Before the game begun, Whizzer spent some time pitching for his guys. It was a way for them to prepare for unusual pitches and a way for Whizzer to practice pitching in different, unusual ways. The Yankees side of the field was filled with laughter when the San Francisco Giants got there all the way until it was time for the teams to have their powwows before starting. Coach Martin gave a few encouraging words and went through the strategy for the game again, but Whizzer’s eyes had wandered over to the baseball fans filling the stadium. 

His heart skipped a beat when his eyes glazed over a kid with the messiest hair. Jason sat alone in the VIP section and for a moment Whizzer’s throat tightened. Where was Marvin? Was he not coming? Why was Jason alone? Right when the confusion began to show on Whizzer’s face through furrowed brows, a familiar form made his way form the other side of the seat row carrying two cups of soda. Whizzer melted into a smile and ducked his head, turning away. Marvin was there, watching him play. He actually came. 

Whizzer didn’t have long to daydream about that mess of a man in the audience. He was called to pitch the opening ball since the Yankees had gotten the field first. He stood in the pitcher’s mound and squeezed the ball in his fingers again. His eyes on the first batter, Whizzer flashed a bratty grin just because he could. Then he yanked his arm back and threw the ball at the batter all in just half of a second. The batter blinked, completely missing the pitch and a loud “STRIKE” filled the stadium.

The New York Yankees fans roared and Whizzer got ready to pitch again, keeping his head in the game. He could get cocky later, when their win was sealed, but this was just the starting pitch. Sure it was a strike, but that meant nothing yet.

The first three innings went by and the Yankees were ahead. Whizzer was pitching again, getting more relaxed with himself again. The beginning of each game was stiff, but once Whizzer remembered that this was what he did better than anyone else, his pitches got more daring and his act on the field got more performative. He knew how to pitch and he knew how to put on a show. Laughing, he got ready to pitch the last pitch of the top of the fourth inning, eyes wandering over to the duo sitting in the VIP box, wining at Marvin who was as focused on Whizzer as the rest of the fans. Everyone was on the edge of their seats as Whizzer raised his arm again, knowingly taking it way slower now. He wanted to tire the batter out so that when he finally did let go of the ball, the batter would react slower. The trick was to either pitch so fast the batter got taken by surprise or pitch so slowly the batter was conceived into a false sense of ‘no he won’t pitch yet’. 

A smirk curled up on the corner of Whizzer’s mouth as he raised a brow at the batter and then, in the blink of an eye, the ball was on its way. Whizzer’s focus moved back to the dark haired, blue eyed man in the audience. He smiled wide and the only thing he heard was coach Martin yelling his name before everything went dark.


	3. Take a breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains mentions and descriptions of bruises and blood! (It’s nothing major, just declaring it for those who might need to skip this chapter.)

Whizzer’s eyes fluttered open. An immediate, intense pain spiked through his head and made him shut them right away again, causing him to grimace. In turn, grimacing sent waves of pain down the left side of his face. Whizzer clenched his jaw and held his breath before slowly blinking an eye open. This time, there was no pain and he let the air he’d been holding in hiss through his gritted teeth. There was just an ache in the back of his head, but it wasn’t unbearable or numbing. Finally he managed to get both of his eyes open without any more intensified pain and turned his head to get a glance at his surroundings.

The room was far too bright for his liking. It stung, made the aching behind his eyes worse. On the nightstand, there was a postcard with the Yankees logo that said ‘Get well soon!’. Air smelled funny there: strangely sterile and... Fuck. It was the hospital. Looking down, Whizzer saw the white sheets and the bed framing his body. There were tubes and clips stuck to his body and the sight made him frown. Why was he in the hospital? What the hell? The pain he’d felt moments before must’ve had something to do with that.

Suddenly, the room’s door slid open and a nurse walked in. Whizzer’s eyes immediately moved to meet the nurse and the confusion on his face was evident. “Morning miss Brown, you’re finally awake.” Whizzer nodded and pushed himself into a better sitting position. “Uh, yeah, hi. Just call me Whizzer, though,” he told the nurse and averted his gaze. Of course they’d misgender him there. Speaking sent little sparks of pain down his cheek and chin. The nurse huffed out a laugh at Whizzer’s request and smiled at him before picking up the file that was hanging at the end of the bed. “Well then, Whizzer. It seems like you’ve suffered quite a blow. You have a mild concussion as well as a bruised cheekbone.” A concussion? A bruised cheekbone? What the hell? What had happened-

Oh. Right. Whizzer got hit by a baseball right on the left side of his face. When he’d turned his eyes away from the batter to send a smile at the guy and his son sitting in the VIP seats. “Guess girls really shouldn’t play baseball, huh?” The nurse started with what he thought was lighthearted small talk, but it just made Whizzer’s heart sink as he stared blankly at the guy. “I take it you don’t follow the league.” The nurse raised a brow before he shrugged his shoulders. “I go to a Yankees game every now and then, why?”

Whizzer scoffed, turning his face away from the nurse again. “You should pay more attention, then.” The bitterness in Whizzer’s words filled the room and almost made the nurse take a step back. “I heard they’ve got a new pitcher this session. Brown... Hey, he got any relation to you?” The nurse pointed his pen at Whizzer and the pitcher’s eyes shot back to the guy, disbelief deep and pained in them. Now this was just offensive. “Dude. Seriously?” “Hey, I would’ve just asked for the guys autograph or something,” the nurse laughed it out, rolling his eyes. “No need to get so touchy.”

Tears of frustration burned at Whizzer’s eyes and he had to blink to keep them in. Gritting his teeth, he took a few breaths before speaking just to keep his voice steady. “When can I get out of here?” The nurse glanced at the file again, not realizing just how deep Whizzer’s hatred towards him had grown. “Uh, you’re actually free to go when you can get to your feet, I'll just help you out of your wiring. The doctor prescribed you a few things, including a strong painkiller, for when you’re going to bed. The concussion and bruised bone can be pretty painful,” nurse-guy continued, “but you really shouldn’t be alone right now. Sleeping for a long time with a concussion isn’t good, even if it’s a mild one. Someone should wake you up every couple of hours.” Whizzer just nodded, already working his way towards getting out of the bed. “Is there anyone we could call who could come pick you up and keep you company? There was no next of kin in your file." The nurse walked over to get the tubes and clips off of Whizzer, and for a while, Whizzer stayed silent.

  
The question had caught Whizzer by surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t. There was no one. He had no one and that’s why the file was blank where his next of kin was supposed to be. He had no one. “No, it’s good. I’ll make sure someone’s there when I get home.” Whizzer had a hunch that the nurse wouldn’t let him leave if he told the truth. And he just needed to get home, get a binder on, and take his needed dose of testosterone. He was already a day late with it. “Alright then, Whizzer. Your own clothes are right...” The nurse’s voice trailed off when he was done with the wiring as he'd called it and turned to grab Whizzer’s clothes from the chair nearby. His Yankees shirt was on the top, folded but dirty with clear stains of blood that hadn't come off in the wash. How nice of the hospital, washing them for Whizzer. “Brown... This shirt...” Speechless, the guy just stared at the clothes, trying to piece it together.

Whizzer stood up, walking over to the guy, and grabbed his clothes. “Yeah. The new Yankees pitcher is me.” With that, he walked straight into the bathroom and only after he’d shut the door did he realize that he could barely stand. His head spun and ached with every heartbeat, his vision blurring out of pain. He sat on the toilet and put his head in his hands, eyes closed, and tried to keep from letting the nurse and the whole situation get to him. He wouldn’t cry. No, there was no way in hell. Not over some transphobic nurse refusing to see and treat him as the person he was, even if there was a mention of it in the file. Whizzer slowly stood up again and got out of the hospital gown, trying not to let the pain stop him from going home. Sure, he almost couldn’t see straight, but the painkillers would help with that, right? First Whizzer pulled on the pants that were stained with drops of blood. His shirt was in even worse shape - the collar and chest were almost covered with the stains. His nose must've bled a ton. Thank god it hadn't broken too. The coach was probably so mad at Whizzer for ruining the game and the uniform. God. This was probably it. He was probably kicked out of the team.

Whizzer had to lean against the wall for a moment, resting his now foggy-with-pain head against the cool tiles. He breathed out a few times with his eyes closed before he pushed himself up straight. He’d go home. He’d go home and the next day he’d drag himself back to the stadium for practice. He was fine. Whizzer took a step towards the door, right past the mirror. He was fi-

The mirror showed someone Whizzer didn’t even recognize. His perfect hair was all clammed up with dirt and sweat and blood, even if the hospital staff had clearly tried to clean it up. Half of his face was black and blue with bruising. There were stitches on his cheek right under the corner of his eye. Whizzer’s left hand moved up to touch the injuries which made him wince. Jesus. The ball had barely missed his eye. If it would’ve been an inch to the right, he might’ve been blind on one side right then. It was crazy lucky he only had a mild concussion with a bruised - and not - shattered bone. Whizzer stared at himself for a moment before looking away, swallowing the knot in his throat. His bruises were so bad and clearly still swollen that there was no way he’d get a binder over his head without touching them in the process. God dammit.

Sighing heavily, Whizzer headed to the door again. He mentally prepared to face the nurse, holding his head high as he pushed the door open. To his - well, not surprise, but something like that - he found the room empty. His prescriptions were left on the chair where his clothes had been, signed off and ready. Whizzer walked to them and folded them before heading to the slide door to get the hell out of that place. Somehow managing a smile, he made it to the front desk to check out and greeted the lady behind it.

“Hey, Uh, Whizzer Brown. I’m checking out.” The desk lady nodded and smiled before giving him a form to sign off on. “Just put your name right here and here,” she pointed at the blank lines, “and you’re all set, darling.” Whizzer did as he was told and offered her another smile before turning on his heels and walking away as fast as he could with the pain flushing in and out of his head and vision.

Taking the bus looking like this wasn’t exactly subtle, so Whizzer decided on a taxi. Whoever brought him to the hospital had been smart enough to leave his wallet in the pocket of his pants so he could get home. There was a pharmacy near where he lived anyway and it wasn’t too crowded so he’d have a chance to get the painkillers before going home. Whizzer knew he couldn’t go to the busy pharmacies in the center of the city; his Yankees shirt and screwed up face would’ve caused a completely unnecessary scene.

Thank god he didn’t have to wait for a taxi for too long. After just a second of standing at the taxi station, he was inside a car and since it was the hospital stop, the driver didn’t ask much about Whizzer’s appearances. She just striked out some conversational pieces, asked about the season so far when she saw Whizzer’s shirt and recognized him as the pitcher. Whizzer tried to be polite and make small talk, but the pain was worsening inside his head. It was making him nauseous and he just wanted to get home, get in bed, and turn all the lights off. Whenever the cab hit any kind of bump, a spike of pain stabbed through Whizzer’s brain and sent sparkles through the edges of his vision. Still, he offered half smiles here and there, making sure the cab driver didn’t have to talk alone.

“Okay, we’re here.” Finally. Whizzer thanked the driver and gave her what he owed with a generous tip - mainly because he just wanted to get out and be done with the interaction. She’d been wonderful, but Whizzer’s state was worsening and waiting for his change would've cost him too much time. He just wanted to get to bed. Whizzer walked into the pharmacy and immediately went to the counter, which thankfully wasn’t occupied. “How can I help ya?” The pharmacist asked with a smile and Whizzer gave him the prescriptions. It didn’t take long for the guy to find all the right packages and Whizzer flashed his ID without even being prompted just to get it over with quickly. Then he was out of the building and on his way to his door just a block down, keys already in his hand - which was shaking with the increasing pain and the incredible restrain of how far Whizzer was pushing himself. He completely understood why the nurse told him it wasn’t wise to be all alone in that state, but he’d manage. He always did.

When Whizzer reached his building and got to his door, he dropped his keys as he tried to open the door. Biting his lip so he wouldn’t scream, he leaned down and grabbed them. It set off an explosion of pain inside his skull that blurred and blacked out his vision almost completely, causing him to fall to his knees. It was so intense Whizzer could feel his stomach turn and it took everything in him not to cry out. For a while, he just sat there panting through gritted teeth, waiting for his vision to come back or at least for the pain to ease out even a little bit. Shaking all over, he slowly reached up to grab the door handle as soon as some of his vision started to clear out, and forced himself back on his feet. Whizzer stumbled inside, flung the door shut, and immediately made his way towards the bathroom. The pain was so intense he knew he’d be sick any moment.

Whizzer barely made it to the toilet when whatever was in his stomach decided to come back up. When he was done furling, he flushed the toilet with a trembling hand and then just pulled his shirt right off. He was covered in cold sweat and couldn’t stand, so he just raised his hand and filled the glass by the sink to down the painkillers. Then, he curled up on the floor, and just waited for the world to stop spinning and for his eyes and brain to stop banging with pain along to his heart’s beating.

Sleep started to take over Whizzer once the painkillers kicked in. When moving no longer made him want sick, he slowly got on all fours and simply crawled out of the bathroom. His vision was still full of shapes and sparkles around the edges, but at least the aching in his head no longer tabbed him with each heartbeat. It was slow, but eventually Whizzer made it into his bedroom and somehow managed to push himself into bed. He placed the plastic bag with his prescribed pills on his nightstand and just pulled the covers over his body, too out of it to remember he still had his pants on. The nurse’s advice of having someone wake him up every few hours went straight out of the window when Whizzer finally fell asleep and got a break from the constant, torturing pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I need to add Jordyn to this they keep inspiring me and coming up with all sorts of ideas thank u (they're okamiisnotonfire and also shoutout to CeCe for the editing tips I suck at proofreading my own writing)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Jordyn for giving me the idea!! Check out their Instagram: okaminatorr, their Yankees player Whizzer art inspired me to write this 
> 
> Let’s see what happens, my first multi-chapter fic!


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